


Fire in the Front Yard

by Enisy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s02e14 Innocence, F/F, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enisy/pseuds/Enisy
Summary: Darla and Angel switch roles, so that Darla gets cursed with a soul, and Angel dies seven episodes in. Buffy suffers considerably less.
Relationships: Darla/Buffy Summers
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26
Collections: Little Black Dress Flash 2020





	Fire in the Front Yard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Titti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titti/gifts).



Darla looks at her, and it’s not so different from before. Buffy expected to perceive an absence, or at least an altered presence, but her girlfriend talks the same, acts the same, moves the same – something more of a saunter, maybe, but only because Buffy knows to search for it.

She scolds herself: this is a bad epiphany to have. Superbad. Ultra mega _mondo_ bad. It will make what’s coming up much harder.

Buffy’s eyes moisten, and her fingers clench around the Tome of Cxaxukluth. She feels her limbs slump, as if her bones have melted into milk, and she folds into one of the school library’s armchairs. Darla remains standing where she is.

Buffy should take it as a compliment, maybe, that the kiss had not just been mind-blowing but _soul_ -blowing. Their lips had met, their lips had parted, and in the brief spell between, the vampire’s morality had gone from LOD to MIA. Like, c’mon. Buffy’s had her share of makeout sessions – she used to be popular, once upon a time – but she didn’t think she was _that_ good.

“Wow. And I didn’t even use tongue.”

“Little bit of tongue,” says Darla. “But I suspect it was the setting that did it for me. I’ve always been fond of bistros.”

The word _bistro_ _s_ seems so foreign in parochial Sunnydale, as does Darla herself now, having lost the schoolgirl uniform in favor of a low-cut dress and a wide-brimmed hat. A _hat_ , of all things. To Buffy, hanging out with Darla has always been like looking in a funhouse mirror and seeing herself stretched out: older, taller, thinner, with a reedier voice, longer hair and more tenuous ethics.

Admittedly, that was part of the attraction. But aside from their similarities, Buffy also digs Darla’s mystery, her sense of humor, her struggle for redemption, and the fact that she killed her boyfriend of 150 years just to save Buffy’s derriere.

Did she say _dig_? She means _d_ _ug_.

And not _dug_ as in, _archaeological_ _excavation_ _with a_ _fifty_ _-man crew_. _Dug_ as in, _tiny_ _hole_ _created_ _with a plastic beach shovel,_ _not_ _suitable for children under 3_.

Context! Context is important.

“You’re just another vampire now – and I kill vampires,” says Buffy, more as a reminder to herself than anything else. “I’m the Slayer.”

“You could be so much more than that.” Darla looks her up and down. “But not today. I don’t feel like fighting. I have the _wors_ _t_ postmortem migraine.”

Buffy traces the engraving on the front cover of the tome. A crucifix. A toadstool. A long, tapering horn. “Ah huh. And you don’t wanna, like... rip the cotton out of my stuffed animals? And scrawl my name in sheep blood and murder all my friends?”

Darla rolls her eyes. “I _always_ want to murder your friends, Buffy. Soul or no soul.” She fingers the artificial flowers on her hat. Ponders. “At least Xander Harris.” Her left eyebrow lifts a bit and her eyes narrow, in that playfully condescending expression Buffy’s come to know so well. “But no, that sounds more like Angelus’s MO. I was never as keen on playing with my food.”

Buffy frowns. “I can’t let you go.”

“Oh, I can’t let you go either, darling girl.” Darla’s timber is nasal and sweet, and it does things to Buffy’s stomach she’d rather not examine right now. The vampire steps closer. “It’s only been two days, and I’m already up to _here_ with Spike and Drusilla. All they do is flirt and fuck, and they pretty much suck at both. And don’t get me started on the Judge. His only raison d'être is incinerating people, and he can’t even do _that_ with a modicum of style. None of them have the same drive, the same _purpose_ as you. You’re wasted on this human body, with its mortality and decay, and its pain receptors, and all the other embarrassing functions. If you just –”

“I can’t let you go,” repeats Buffy, “but I wanna finish reading about this Zazu dude before we get down to brass tacks.” She raises the book up to eye level. Conveniently enough, there is a lengthy incantation in this chapter. That’ll buy her time. “ _One,_ _spake_ _he_ _:_ _the_ _spirit is feeble. Two,_ _spake_ _he: the_ _spin_ _al cord_ _is feeble. Three..._ ”

On the count of ten, Buffy looks up from the page. And breathes a sigh of relief, lowering the book, straightening her legs. The library door is gaping open, like a scab hanging from a coagulated wound. Darla is gone. Buffy didn’t need to slay her – and more importantly, the vampire didn’t make an attempt on _her_ life, either.

Blood returns to her fingers; her heart uncocks its crossbow.

The Judge is able to burn humanity out of people and vampires alike. And it occurs to Buffy now, with a strange, illicit sort of thrill, that Darla would go up like a mothball.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [enisywrites](https://enisywrites.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Come on over if you want to drop me a prompt or a question, or if you just want to say hi!


End file.
